To my left, you, in the driver's seat. Chlorophyll, to my right, through the windowglass, green tipping to black, tipping to gold, shivering. Green hills, further on, shading to blue. Fuzzed slopes, lovable, rolling down down. Awkward weeds, sprigged, not wheat and won't feed anyone. All is Dutch, set out for display and gain. I've come to a conclusion about happiness: I want it. You say "Sometimes you've got to bust a move." How would I do that? Through the windowglass I can get a fearsome burn. Thus I'm spf'd. I must earn. On my lap, folderful of papers to which I should turn but the sun does her thing: down down. We don't see her cooling, but we gain from her careful campaign. Goodbye glimpse, speed past, the green consummation tracks everwards, lost— Lost me, lost you, lost green hills shading to blue and lost the valley view…. Copyright © 2017 Kathleen Ossip. Used with permission of the author. |
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